With her veil and gloves in her lap Letty sat thoughtful while he passed from shelf to shelf in search of the smaller volume. Of her real suspicion, that the man was a friend of Judson Flack’s, she decided not to speak.
Seated once more in front of her, and bending slightly toward her, Allerton read:
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“Oh, not in ladies’ gardens, My peasant posy! Smile thy dear blue eyes, Nor only—nearer to the skies— In upland pastures, dim and sweet— But by the dusty road Where tired feet Toil to and fro; Where flaunting Sin May see thy heavenly hue, Or weary Sorrow look from thee Toward a more tender blue.” |
Allerton glanced up from the book. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
She admitted that it was, and then added: “And yet there was the times when the castin’ director put me right in the front, to register what the crowd behind me was thinkin’ about. He might ha’ noticed me then.”
“Yes, of course; that must have been it. Now wouldn’t you like me to read that again? You must always read a poem a second or third time to really know what it’s about.”
Meanwhile a poem of another sort was being read to Miss Barbara Walbrook by her aunt, who had entered the drawing-room within five minutes after Allerton had left it. During those five minutes Barbara had remained seated, plunged into reverie. The problem with which she had to deal was the degree to which she was right or wrong in permitting Rashleigh to go on in his crazy course. That this outcast girl was twining herself round his heart was a fact growing too obtrusive to be ignored. Had Rashleigh been as other men decisive action would have been imperative. But he was not as other men, and there lay the possibilities she found difficult.
If the aunt couldn’t help the niece to solve the difficult question she at least could compel her to take a stand.